Then, however, Consort Lihua said something that even Maomao hadn’t expected.

“Sir Jinshi, I release this chief lady-in-waiting from my service, on the grounds of using abusive speech toward her mistress. So much so that I had to raise my own hand against her.”

This time it was Jinshi’s turn to go slack-jawed. “Consort...”

“I see an open hand was not emphatic enough.” Even as Shin stood looking dazed by the slap, Lihua grabbed her by the collar and made a fist. Jinshi and Gaoshun rushed to stop her. Only Maomao found herself downright impressed. The lady knows how to handle herself! Lihua was no longer the consort she had been, waiting vacantly for the thread of her life to be cut.

“I release this woman from my service. And I formally request that she never be allowed in the rear palace again under any circumstances,” Lihua said, clearly and confidently.

Even if Shin were to become a mother to the nation, she would live her life not for the country’s people, but for her own position. She sought only power; she had no interest in fulfilling the duties and responsibilities that would come along with it. The nation had no need for such a queen.

Shin still hadn’t recovered from the slap. Did she understand what mercy she was being shown? Or would she think Lihua had wronged her, and resent her all the more?

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

No matter how noble the blood, a woman who left the rear palace under scandalous circumstances would be unable to retaliate against a consort. Personally, Maomao thought Lihua was being a bit soft, but let us consider what humiliation this treatment must have brought to such a proud woman.

“Can I ask you something?” Jinshi said as they walked through the halls of the Crystal Pavilion. He was looking at the building where the sick maid had lain in bed.

“Yes, sir?”

“I know you were aware that the sick woman was here at the Crystal Pavilion, but you didn’t know exactly where she was, did you? I mean, you even went to the trouble of putting on a disguise, presumably so no one would be suspicious if you visited repeatedly.”

He was right: Maomao had worn that outfit because she herself was by now most unwelcome here. She’d realized she might not figure out where the sick woman was in a single visit, so she’d taken care to keep people from knowing who she was. Yes, a palace woman accompanying the doctor attracted a certain amount of attention, but certainly less than Maomao would have received without a disguise.

The serving women of the Crystal Pavilion knew how to keep their mouths shut. Or perhaps they had been taught how—through harsh discipline from the ladies-in-waiting above them, somewhere Consort Lihua wouldn’t have seen.

“Ah, but I did know where she was,” Maomao said. She’d already had a sense of where a sick person would be staying: somewhere moderately isolated from the sleeping quarters of the other maids, or anywhere else inconspicuous. When she’d been here full-time, maids who weren’t feeling well were given new sleeping quarters to ensure that whatever they were sick with didn’t spread. There was even a dedicated sick area within the pavilion.

But a storage shed, yeesh.

The odor wafting from Shin had given her a strange feeling, but she’d never imagined things had gone that far. It was sheer luck that she’d noticed the place.

“That was my clue,” she said, pointing to some white flowers. The bush must have been planted recently, because the earth below it was a different color from the rest of the garden. It was awfully poor placement to be the work of a gardener. Right beside a storage shed. The bush bore black fruit full of the white dust that would become face-whitening powder.

“How so?”

“In feng shui, green-colored things are considered good for the health. Supposedly, it’s ideal to combine them with white.”

White—like all the flowers on the bush. Though the plant was known as whiteblossom, or sometimes the four-o’clock flower, red was a more typical color for it. Maomao had realized that someone must have specifically chosen stock that would bloom white.

She didn’t remember the bush being there at the Crystal Pavilion. Someone had planted it—she didn’t know who, but it must have been someone who felt for the sick woman. Maomao found a wave of relief rolling through her to know there was at least one person there who did.

Whiteblossom, though... Maomao contemplated the irony of what she had found in the flower’s presence along with the sick woman. She let out a long sigh, then realized someone was staring at her. She glanced back to see them half-hidden by a pillar.

“What’s the matter?” Jinshi stopped and looked at her. The person watching Maomao looked stricken.

“You go on ahead, Master Jinshi.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re in the way.”

Her blunt response seemed to annoy Jinshi, but Gaoshun talked him down the way one might a frustrated ox—giving Maomao a fresh opportunity to appreciate just how good it was to have someone around who could actually intuit what was happening.

Maomao looked toward the woman hiding behind the pillar. “What is it?” she asked. The other woman looked perhaps a little bit older than Maomao, but she also appeared distinctly intimidated. By Maomao, or by her companions? It was hard to say.

“Uh, um... A-About the woman in that building...”

There was a fresh, white flower in the young woman’s hand. Green and white: the colors were unmistakable. The woman carried herself well, although she spoke hesitantly.

“She’s no longer there. It was decided that she would leave the rear palace, but they’re sending her somewhere it will be easier for her to get better.”

Consort Lihua, feeling that responsibility rested with her, had volunteered to pay the woman’s medical costs and give her a stipend to live on.

“Oh. So she left...” The maid looked at the ground, but at the same time, appeared relieved. She let her hands brush her cheeks in an attempt to hide the tears that were spilling down them, then bowed to Maomao and went back to her work.

Behind her there were only small, white petals on the ground.